


Damn Pen

by stickyrice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, PWP, Romance, mythea, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:37:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyrice/pseuds/stickyrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pregnancy hormones are confusing to the best of us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn Pen

**Author's Note:**

> It's a thing I started writing a long time ago that I have only found again recently.  
> Please by kind; after such a long absence from this one I have no idea where I was going with it, but needed to just finish it anyways.

With an indignant huff she threw down her pen and watched as it rolled across and off the desk. With a groan she pushed herself away from the desk and bent down to retrieve it, but was stopped short by the swell of her stomach. Frowning her brow, she shifted around in her chair trying to get a better angle around her rounded belly in vain.

Gathering up the files in an angry swipe across her desk, she stomped her way through his office door. Stopping in the doorway she frantically fanned herself with one of file, trying desperately to stave off the tears that had welled in her eyes and threatened to fall.

At the sudden intrusion into his office, Mycroft looked up to see his very beautiful, very pregnant wife standing in the door way. Sliding his glasses off he took in the sight before him; from the flush that stained her cheeks, to her belly swollen with their child, to the flats that she had been forced to wear, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“Is everything alright my dear?” he asked her in a controlled, almost casual manner which for him was difficult when all he could see were the things bothering her; her hormones had been up and down and all around as of late, and he didn’t need to find out the multiple ways that she could kill a man with her bare hands.

“Fine, everything is fine, just fine ... I dropped my pen” she cried, rapidly blinking her eyes to try and stave off the tears that threatened to fall.  

He raised a skeptical brown but none the less nodded his head in agreement with her, even though he knew that was a blatant lie, but he was at a loss as to what to do or say; if he called her out she would bite his head off faster than when a female praying mantis is finished with their males, or she would burst into tears and be inconsolable for hours.

There was a brief pause as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt; her eyes downcast, she gave a quiet sniffle and swipe at her eyes to try and compose herself.

Looking back up and meeting his eyes, “Mycroft?”

“Hummm, yes my dear?” he answered.

“Do ... do you think I’m fat?... Do you think I’m pretty?”

 _Ah finally, the root of the problem_ he thought. He may not be the most sentimental of men, but he did know how to approach this and not earn a slap to the cheek. Taking his glasses off and setting them off to the side, he pushed his chair back and approached her ( _no fast movements, least he spook_ her he thought).

Reaching down he intertwined their fingers together, and then brought her joined hands up to his lips to press a gentle kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“No, I don’t think you’re pretty” he said, and before she had time to break his nose, he continued “I think you’re beautiful”

“And you’re not fat my dear” he said as he tugged her into his arms, giving her a slight twirl so her back rest against his chest, and brought his arms around her so that his hands rested on her swollen belly, “You are not fat, you are the mother of our child, and nothing, nothing could be more sexier than that” he whispered against her ear, his voice low and husky.

She relaxed against him chest for a second before turning in his arms, “But I feel fat...“

Before she was able to finish the rest of her sentence, he covered her lips with his and gave her a brusing kiss; searing every ounce of his passion and desire for her into the kiss. When they broke apart, their chests were heaving from the lack of oxygen ( _well worth it_ he thought absently).

His hand comes up to caress her cheek, “Absolutely beautiful” he reiterates before capturing her lips again, his tongue slipping between her soft lips to tangle with hers, as she wrapped her arms around his neck trying to draw him closer.

A breathy moan escaped her lips as they break apart, and he starts to trail kisses across her jaw and down her neck, sinking his teeth into the junction between her neck and shoulder. With a hiss, she jerks her head to the side to give him better access.

He pushes them backwards until the back of her legs bump against his desk. He gently guides her to lie back atop of his desk; the crinkle of papers could be heard crunching her back. She made to pull him down with her by the lapels of his jacket, but he gave her soft smile, untangling her hands from his jacket, pressing a kiss to each palm before settling her fully onto the desk.

The care and gentleness of his touch belayed his need to take care of her, so with a shaky intake of breath that signaled her heightened arousal, she surrenders her body to her lover.

With white knuckles, she clutched at the edge of the desk as shivers wracked her body as gentle yet insistent hands pushed the hem of her skirt up, followed by wet, open mouth kisses along the inside of her thighs, up her legs; sharp nips to her sensitive flesh, soothed by gentle, broad strokes of his tongue.

She shivered in anticipation, her body alight and strung tightly. Shifting her body she tried to wriggle to the end of the desk, wanting to press herself against. A firm hand pressed against her, stilling her movements to keep her in place, as he flashed her a devilish smirk from between her legs.

She pushes herself up onto her elbows to give a pouted protest, when her words are trapped in her throat as a strangled moan bubbles up, and she flops unceremoniously down once again; her hand instinctively traveling to rest on the back of his head.

With a broad swipe of his tongue, he licked a stripe up her slowly, only to capture the little bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs between his lips and suck until he felt her thrashing above him. His name rolling over her lips like a prayer; oh how he loved the way his name sounded when she was in the throes of passion; breathy, sensual, primal.

As he felt her about to shatter around him, he slowed his pace, softly parting  her lower lips with his tongue, easing past them to her core; stroking his fingers against her inner thighs gently.

At the insistent tug to his hair from above, he looked up, only to be met with an impatient glare. With a huff, his name was transformed into a begging plea and so-help-me-if-you-don’t-get-on-with-it-I-will-shoot-you growl.

With a chuckle, he moved back up her body, his lips once again claiming her’s in a searing kiss, melting the frown from her brows. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer, wanting, needing to feel more him against her.

Edging her towards the end of the desk, his other hand deftly unbuckled his belt and slid his trousers and pants roughly down his legs. Feeling his heated flesh brush against her, she reached down between them, firmly stroking him from base to tip, eliciting a shuddering moan from him, before guiding him into her slick core.

Rocking forward, he slowly penetrated her, causing her to wrap her legs around his waist to urge him on.

“Patience wife” he whispered hotly into her ear.

Her eyes fluttered shut at the tickle of hot air across her ear and she calmed her nerves, letting the feeling of him fill her wash over her as he buries himself to the hilt and pauses.  

“You are far more and far better then I deserve” he says reverently as his forehead comes to rest against hers.

\---------------------------------------------

If one were to be passing by the study they would be greeted to the sight of the great Mycroft Holmes with his trousers and pants around his ankles, shirt and waste coat askew, chest heaving as he rested his forehead against the swell of his wife’s very pregnant belly. And his shadowy, mysterious personal assistant, turn wife, with her skirt bunched to her waste and shirt missing a few buttons; dreamy eyed with a content smile playing on her lips, absently stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.

Anthea shivered slightly as their sweat slicked bodies cooled. Feeling her tremble beneath him, he reluctantly untangled himself from her, instantly missing her heated skin against his, and the rippling movement of their child under his ear.

After arranging himself into some semblance of order, he helps her to her feet in front of him. Giving her a soft smile that made his eyes soft and warm, he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

“Alright?” he asked, watching her closely.

Nodding, she laid her head against his chest; feeling his arms snake around her, she relaxed into his familiar embrace, inhaling his scent.  

Looking up at him, she gave him a curt nod, a brilliant smile lighting her face as she untangled from his embrace, “Alright” she said, reassuring him.  

With that she breezed right out of the room without a backwards glance. Hormones, he thought with a shake of his head, however he would be the last person to mention that, especially not after the last time, he thought as he winced just remembering the cabinet member who was torn to pieces after his flippant comment about pregnant women and hormones. He had almost felt sorry for him, almost being the operative word.   

 

 


End file.
